Cynical Skin
by ForeverMATT
Summary: Mello's need for a hacker brings him into an interesting situation in which he tries to save a redheaded boy. -Mello's POV


**Title: **Cynical Skin

**Summary: **Mello's need for a hacker brings him into an interesting situation in which he tries to save a redheaded boy. -Mello's POV

**Disclaimer: **I don't own DN or anything referenced. Even the title is not mine. It is a song title by the band: Get Scared. The song has no relation to the fic.

**Author's Note: **This was written between stages of consciousness, so it might not make any sense. It's not proofread either because I know... if I did that, I'd end up just deleting it altogether.

...

* * *

Nine years. That's how fuckin' long it's been since I last saw him. I remember so clearly, how he looked that night when I took his gameboy and threatened both him and his gaming device. My words back then had been: "Get your gay ass in bed or I'll break this damn game. And then, I'll break you."

I didn't mean it, of course, but I was a good actor, and I spat so much venom my spit wound up on that horrendous striped shirt my (former) roommate insisted on wearing.

And, when I knew he was safely tucked in bed, I left.

I didn't try to find out if he missed me or was heart broken over my sudden departure. I didn't check in on him. I just went about my life, committing crimes that he might have committed in a the virtual world but never in real life.

Now, I've reached a point where I need him. No, not for anything sentimental. I need his brain: his hacking skills. Even if a small part of me remembers that sly smirk when I first caught him lighting up in the boys room after disabling the smoke detector. Even if I still harbor a twinge of regret every time I think about the time we've spent apart. And, even if I consider all the possibilities-

Let's end that thought there.

That damn redhead was a breed all his own, and if I let myself dwell too much, I just might realize how much I miss him.

But I won't dwell.

This is for business, not pleasure.

My men and I have tracked him to this location -it's a place that looks ready to be condemned, and it's on the shady side of town- and I've just busted the lock off the door.

Before I even step inside, I smell smoke and alcohol and piss. Bodies line the walls- bodies, living ones. Some are slumped here and there with needles or bottles, and it's perfectly clear what they're doing.

They're dying, so slowly. I'm tempted to finish the job, but I'm not one for mercy. I haven't been in a long time.

Making my way from hall to hall, checking every room and cubby, I can't help my vision washing over the faces of each deteriorating man, woman, and child... I keep getting this bad feeling that one of them might be the redhead I'm searching for.

Thankfully, this doesn't appear to be the case, and with each passing glance, I'm realizing this and finding myself able to breathe easier despite the odors.

-Eventually, I try to open a door that stands out from the rest. The letter M is burned into the wood grain – a blackened relic- and I take that as a sign to press onward... but the door is locked... until I kick it in with ease and walk down the small but steep flight of stairs, finding myself in a dark, dank basement.

Cold walls and colder cement flooring, leaky pipes, and a musky scent. So typical.

But there's a sound too. The sound of voices and music. Surely, it's a television with the volume at a considerable decibel.

Easily finding the source of sound (a television, just as I'd predicted), I also notice its watcher: a redheaded child sitting only a few feet away, eyes practically glued to the large screen. The close proximity was almost alarming, but I didn't really give a shit if this idiot strained his eyes and fucked up his hearing. After all, I was seeking out a hacker and nothing more.

Walking closer, I spot a remote on a small stand. Grabbing it, I turn the tv off and clear my throat to gain attention. "I'm looking for a guy named Matt. He's about 24, and he's good with computers."

Aren't I simple? My words aren't suspicious at all. There's no way anyone would suspect anything.

-When the child doesn't respond, I growl in frustration, approaching and pressing a heavy hand to his shoulder, squeezing tight enough to cause discomfort and roughly forcing the child to turn and face me, but... what I see isn't what I expected.

His eyes -rather, where his eyes SHOULD be- are just two large holes, tunnels of black where his eyeballs have been plucked right out of his head. There is no bleeding and the nerves and tissue around the eyes appears dead and blackened, cauterized. -This injury had to have happened a while ago.

And, I hadn't noticed before, but there is a notable amount of coagulated blood on one side of his head. -The poor kid was missing an ear; the other remained intact.

Tilting his head to the side in a curious way that managed to look creepy as fuck, the child reached out blindly toward me, fingers flexing to express the desire for touch as his lips moved but no sound escaped.

"...I should put you out of your misery. No one deserves to live like this," I whisper, though I regret my words when the redheaded child responds by dropping his hands into his lap and whimpering softly, like a kicked puppy. "I should at least get you to a hospital. You'll catch an infection here."

I don't know why I cared. I'd thought my heart had died, but... seeing this kid in this condition seems to have brought some life back into it; I could feel it thudding in my chest...

The kid shakes his head and angles his face so that he's facing me properly even though he can't see. "Can't leave," he says, though his voice is barely a whisper, and I have a feeling he can't speak much louder.

"You want me to just leave you?"

"No."

"Well, what?! Fuck, I've got shit to do. I can't-"

"Take me with you."

"Not happening. I'm looking for someone, and-" And I don't finish. Because, at that moment, the child flings himself onto the ground and kicks his feet. A scream rips through his throat as he thrashes about angering wounds hidden beneath his clothes and causing blood to seep through the fabrics. "Dammit, kid, stop throwing such a fit, you're hurting yourself!"

I don't know what had gotten into me; I don't know why I cared, but I was at this child's side immediately, pulling him in my arms and cradling his writhing body until he stilled and his breathing became calm.

He'd fallen asleep. Or passed out.

Getting up with him still in my arms, I turn and head back, up the stairs and through the door, then through a maze of walls, halls, and doors, past piles of human waste, and finally out the door.

The child weighs no more than 60 pounds, I'm sure, but the moment I step out of the building, I'm holding air. There's a sudden weightlessness to my cargo, and I look disbelievingly at my own empty arms.

The child had vanished.

Not understanding what's going on, I head back inside, hearing a roar of laughter as some nobody proclaimed: "You tried to save the kid, didn't you? And now... you'll never leave. And if you do, you'll be back."

His dilated pupils were a sign that he was tripping balls on something or another, so I paid the fucker no mind. Glancing around, I decided to check the basement once more.

And that's what I did.

The moment I began to descend those stairs, I could hear the television again. Walking down and slowing my pace, I could make out the same redheaded silhouetted, blood on one side of his head and face pressed too close to the screen.

"Kid, what's going on?" I don't expect an answer.

But I get one anyways. The child turns around clumsily, nearly knocking himself over in the process before leering at me with empty sockets. "I want you to take me with you."

"I tried, kid. I don't understa-"

"Everyone's tried. I'm stuck here." And he bows his head in shame, body racked with tremors.

"I'll try again, okay? Don't be upset. I'll get you out of here."

"You can't. Everyone here, they've all tried. And they kept coming back to try, or at least make sure I'm cared for... and after a while, they stop leaving. I don't know if they _can_ leave anymore. This house... it sucks you in, and if you're here long enough, it doesn't let you go."

I thought about it for a moment, and though I wasn't sure I believed what I was hearing, I was willing to go the extra mile to prove a point. "I'll make everyone leave, and then I'll burn the place down. Then-"

"Don't... I might not-"

"It's just a building, kid. -Now, what's your name?" Cautiously, I find myself sitting next to him on the floor, and I realize that his body gives off no warmth.

"I'm Matt."

Hearing that name takes me back, flooring me with emotion. The hacker I'd been seeking, his name had been Matt. But that was just a coincidence. This kid was nine or ten, and the redhead I'm looking for is in his twenties by now. "Well, Matt, I'm going to figure out how to save you. Alright?"

The child said nothing, and I didn't further the conversation. Instead, I pulled him into my arms and got up once more, repeating my earlier actions and making my way from the basement, through the makeshift labyrinth, and out the door, but once again... my arms became full of air upon exiting.

And as I turned back in yet again, more laughter assaulted me.

"Leave while you can," someone said jubilantly. "Once you're stuck, there's no cure."

Unable to take it any longer, I pulled out a gun and shot the loud mouthed fucker between the eyes. "Cure that, dammit," I murmured spitefully, stepping over the body and making my way to the basement once more.

The same setting greeted my eyes, as I had begun to expect. It was as if things were being reset and put back into their proper places each time I tried to help the kid. "I'm sorry, Matt. There has to be a way to-"

"There isn't. I've been here for as long as I can remember. Just give up and leave... before you're stuck too."

Sitting next to him and wrapping an arm around him, pulling him snug against me, I try to offer comfort that is foreign to me. "I'm Mello," I say simply, though the tv is so loud, I'm sure he can't hear me.

But he replies, nonetheless. "Mello, you're a nice person. Please leave."

"Why?"

"Because I can't leave. I've been here for over three decades. I don't age, I don't get sick, and I don't feel pain. Mello, I'm dead. You can't help a dead person."

"Matt, I-"

"My name's not even Matt. I lied because I heard your heart aching for someone named Matt. I thought... if you found a connection between me and your loved one... maybe it would be enough to help me get out. It was wrong and selfish of me."

Hearing this, I wasn't quite sure how to feel. So, I pushed emotions aside and asked "what's your name?"

"I don't remember," he says. "But a woman once called me 'rancid.' That was so long ago. I don't think that's my name. Maybe I don't have one."

"Then I'll keep calling you Matt. Everyone deserves a name, even if it's just an alias."

Hearing this, the redhead smiled at me. "Thanks, Mello. But you should get going."

"I'll be back," I say, not giving it a second thought.

And he's still smiling as he says: "I know."

And I get up and head up the stairs, shutting the door behind me. I make my way out and head for my car. There's a sense of peace at knowing that I plan to see the child again, though for now, I have another redhead to find.

My life can't halt for that child.

Getting in my car, not bothering with the safety belt, I start it up, put it in gear, and pull out... but seconds later, my world is black as another car hammers into mine.

…

-I wake up to a loud television. Looking over, I see a redheaded child and realization dawns on me.

"Shit..."

...

* * *

**/Could've been worse./**


End file.
